j-i-poetry

[j-i-poetry]

Thank you @@@poetry-community and everyone who got me to 25 reblogs!

A thanks to the little group of people who have reblogged! Love you all!

[j-i-poetry]

The Inca Dove

We took the last

bus to campus.

A school I do not attend

but still I love.

Arboretum of heat-loving

megaflora,

Both of the thirsty and

tolerant type.

I see my favorite

animals here often,

Their delicate feathers clad

tightly to tiny heads.

This time was different; I met a new friend,

from a new place.

I greeted this miracle, honored to be

witness to its travels.

The orb of gray and grayer petals fluffed and

rustled in the dirt,

Long tail and tiny head only suggestions

of further shape.

I knelt, as to pray for forgiveness, and caught

a few images.

The creature raised its petite neck and

watched my camera;

I hope I did not steal its precious, innocent

little soul.

I thanked the Mexican visitor for its time, and

set off on my own journey,

My day perfectly complete, but pulled

out of my magical moment.

I reenter my mundane reality and return my thoughts to

life, the universe and everything,

But always will the inca dove be with me, with

my own trifling spirit.

[j-i-poetry]

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[j-i-poetry]

Freeze-Thaw Cycle

The numbness of sunlight,

in the stapled-on smiles of

The endless scroll.

No thinking = No feeling

The thawing of moonlight

The tide returns emotions and

Sets down ideas.

No noise = No escape

[j-i-poetry]

Foreign Tongue

Two sports bras weigh down

On me like an overcast Sunday.

I do my best to carry on,

But these storm clouds

Rumble through my bones

I made the decision this morning

To wear boxers and skip the shave.

The world’s a stage, and I am

Wearing a hand-made costume,

A visage not even I am familiar with.

Some hear the song of euphoria

When their body changes shape,

But that slippery siren never sings for me

My lottery winnings were pain and torment,

But I hold onto the ticket for dear life.

The smell of rubbing alcohol

Wafts from my shoulder,

The magic shape-shifting potion

But I look in the mirror and see

An open wound, festering and black

“Jason” they called me when I asked them to

But the word still feels foreign

As if I convinced everyone to lie to me

To tell me who I am, because who am I

To think I know myself best

[j-i-poetry]

I Devour

Five books in my backpack

Three more on my phone.

I assure myself of my appetite while

I gnaw slowly on this ream of words.

Mary Oliver tastes like fresh spring water and

Green tea on my tongue.

I lick clean the bones of Death of a Naturalist

The farting toads cemented in my gray matter.

The Poetry Foundation magazine drips

Rosewater and tannins; dry wine and floral notes.

And John Green whispers sweet nothings

Of tuberculosis in my ear as I drift into a book-coma.

Ink stains my lips and paper scraps surround my

Motionless body, adrift in dreams of fame and fortune.

[j-i-poetry]

i. radical acceptance

i stopped arguing with the rain.

let it fall—on my hair, my plans,

my trembling grief.

i stopped fighting the broken clock,

the crack in my voice,

the way my mother never said sorry.

everything,

was exactly as it had to be.

and suddenly—

nothing was wrong.

ii. the vanishing of good and bad

i held a dying moth and felt god.

i watched a man spit venom

into his child’s face and felt god.

the veil split—

not into black and white,

but into endless shades of

“this too.”

there are no villains.

only fire learning how to wear skin.

iii. the unbearable lightness

i laughed while burying my rage.

i danced while my knees bled.

this isn’t numbness.

this is

a helium soul.

my body became a song

i could hum without clinging to the chorus.

grief floated, joy floated,

everything floated.

iv. hypersensitivity & immense peace

i felt a tree weep

three streets away.

i cried with her.

then walked home

and made tea.

the world screamed through me

and i—

i was still.

still as stone,

still as truth,

still as the center

of every wildfire.

v. the loss of identity

i looked in the mirror

and saw no one.

not a poet.

not a woman.

not a name.

just wind in the shape

of remembering.

a costume stitched in stardust.

a voice learning silence.

vi. impeccability

my tongue grew teeth

and chose not to bite.

my hands itched for reaction,

but found reverence instead.

i no longer spoke to be heard,

but to honor.

to touch the air

with only clean fire.

vii. the end of seeking

i burned all the maps.

let the compass rust.

the road never led to god.

god was the dust,

the stumble,

the pause.

i stopped running

and the finish line vanished.

there was only here.

and here—

was everything.

and now?

i wear the world like a robe.

i hold sorrow like a child.

i do the dishes like a monk.

and when the sun touches my face,

i don’t reach for meaning.

i just stand there—

burning,

breathing,

[j-i-poetry]

[j-i-poetry]

Thanks for the tag @humanconditionpoetry!

Here's as close to me as I could get:

Now for a couple of tags: @verrlorenpoet @rachelbracepoetry

I don't have many right now, but that's okay. Have fun friends!

got tagged by @thatfriendlyanon to make myself in this picrew (thank you elle you're right it is so delightful)

i need this outfit so bad now !! and of course i had to add little ghosts :]

tagginggg @idontwantrobyntodie @earl-grey-crow @elfstonke @sunflower-chai and really anyone else who sees this and wants to do it mwah

[j-i-poetry]

GNARLY

[j-i-poetry]

Irish Spring

a raspy laugh, sharp as cheap soap a mind's movie on a honey-smacked whorl

[j-i-poetry]

windows open season. waking up to birdsong season. smelling the dewy grass season. twirling in a long skirt season. life feels worth living again season. taking all of my meals outside of possible season. reasoning how far I can get by bike ride and pedaling out anyway season.

[j-i-poetry]

Decomposing

Her fingers, the wispy breath of young wheat.

An Ohio summer hangs like a warm towel after swimming.

We kickball ideas over the nylon floor of the trampoline;

She recites revisions for her newest novel.

The dank rot of sweet hay and dirt wafts over memories.

[j-i-poetry]

Per Amor Ad Astra

Take only photos, leave only footprints,

The mantra of the visitor

To nature's stoop.

We tread lightly on our mother's carpet,

The grass or soil or sand deforms

Under shoe or sole.

We watch as our cousins trot or sway or chirp

As our brother sets on the horizon,

Brilliant and silent.

Together are we on our little world, starstuff all.

As much of the ground or sky

As we are each other.

Watch as the stars rearrange themselves,

See the passing of eras, young ones,

Rise to your feet and behold.

[j-i-poetry]

the lover’s almanac : part one.

[j-i-poetry]

I Don't Have Hands

Eating daisies, yellow paint,

Drinking water, taking pills.

Doing everything as I should

Following all the doctor's rules.

Working hard, walking often,

Happy wallpaper, pretty songs

I wrote my feelings in the notes app,

Going to therapy, watching birds.

I have a cat, have a roof,

Have a bed, have a girl.

I don't wanna be sad no more

But my mind has been made up for me.

The ball's not in my court, and I

Don't have hands anyways.

[j-i-poetry]

I Take Pictures of Flowers

Who:

For my love, to make her smile

When a purple blossom makes

Me think of her favorite color.

For my Tumblr followers when

I post proof of my wilderness walks.

For my soul, so I might revisit these

Moments of awe and beauty.

For these,

I take pictures of flowers.

What:

A moment caught in my

Binary bug net,

A digital trace of my travels,

A daily commute or intentional stroll.

And along the way,

I take pictures of flowers.

Where:

My cloud storage fills

To the brim, and I deign to

Empty a single pixel.

Yellow, then red warnings of

Limited space,

But still,

I take pictures of flowers

Why:

To preserve what I cannot

Trust myself to remember.

Every detail, every shimmer on

A petal, every ring of color,

Every fold and roll and pleat.

To replace what I cannot have;

With no box or garden or

Sun-exposed pot,

I can only hold onto these beauties

In digital form.

When:

The golden hours escape me,

But they are probably sour grapes,

A cast of yellow hue on a face,

Not meant for leaf or colored bract.

Nay, whenever the feeling hits,

I pull out my device.

No process or plan in mind,

I snap one or two decent photos

And continue on my way.

Moment by moment

I take pictures of flowers.

How:

Only carefully, gently,

Holding the camera as I would

Carry a basket of down.

Motionless, I hold my breath and

Press the button.

My phone, with the help

Of an AI worth my trust,

Or with my moderately expensive

Camera I would like to buy

A macro attachment for.

I know not the specifics of how

My precious ladies make it onto

Film or image, but even so

I take pictures of flowers.